<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Mirrored Perspective by casket4mytears</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230175">Mirrored Perspective</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/casket4mytears/pseuds/casket4mytears'>casket4mytears</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - The Bodyguard (1992) Fusion, Bodyguard, Childhood Friends, Do these pasties make me look fat?, Eat your heart out Cher, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Forced Cohabitation, Is that a Trident or are you happy to see me?, Lilly Kane Lives, Logan Echolls being a BAMF, Multiple Crossovers, Mutual Pining, Mystery, No Beta Oh No, Noir With Corsets, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Veronica Mars Season/Series 04 Compliant, Past Relationship(s), Protective Logan Echolls, Stalking, There will be stripteases, VMTAP20, Veronica Mars doesn't take orders, Why crossover one movie when you can crossover two?, au - post season 2, eventual love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:00:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/casket4mytears/pseuds/casket4mytears</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Neptune's wealthy elites know who to call when they need swift, discreet assistance with troubling matters:  Wiedman and Associates, the newly-opened private security firm helmed by the former head of security for Kane Software.  When the star of an exclusive nightclub becomes the fixation of a dangerous stalker, the owners hire the firm, sparing no expense to protect her.</p><p>Having grown up in a world of Hollywood elites, it's the perfect first solo assignment for Logan Echolls.  That is, until he meets the fiery and strangely familiar Rose.  Can he protect her from the nameless threat while protecting his wounded heart?</p><p>AU - loosely compliant through season 2 (Lilly lives; no bus crash).   Loose crossover with The Bodyguard and Burlesque.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Gotta Blame It On My Tropes Baby</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome to Burlesque.... but also, The Bodyguard.... and also, a complete revision of everything beyond season 2.</p>
<p>What if the Fab Four existed, and lived?  What if no one was murdered and no buses crashed?  There are possibilities, and I'm about to play with them, extensively.  </p>
<p>This fic rated primarily for frustrating characters who argue until they eventually get it on, stripteases, language and some mild violence.  There is a mystery, after all.</p>
<p>Story title taken from Death Cab For Cutie's "I Will Possess Your Heart"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/184370840@N04/50109738657/">
    
  </a>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stunning cover art by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowBobcat/pseuds/Marshmellow%20Bobcat">Marshmellow Bobcat</a><br/>(two alternate covers, both amazing, will appear on other chapters)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There you are. </p>
<p>You’re late today, but seem unhurried.  There’s no urgency in your gait as you stroll into the club and greet the staff.  You make your jokes with that overly friendly man at the back door and reach for your water bottle.  Today, it’s purple.  You have three, I’ve noticed.  This one has BPAs.  You’re a smart woman, so I know that you should have figured out by now that the stainless steel bottles are the ones you should stick with.  Is there something sentimental about this one you cling to?  Is purple your favourite colour?  Is it lucky?</p>
<p>Purple.  I will remember this about you.</p>
<p>I remember everything about you.</p>
<p>I move closer.  They never notice me.  You never notice me, but you will.  It’s a matter of time.  I am patient.  I have always understood that timing is everything.  Anything worth having requires effort and planning.  Research. </p>
<p>It’s how I know you’re late by precisely eight minutes and forty seconds.  It’s how I know you will run up seventeen steps, walk another twenty-five and enter a dressing room, where you will seat yourself at table three.  It’s the nicest table.  The one reserved for the star.  The mirror is bigger, and better lit.  When you’re not looking, other women use it.</p>
<p>I know you wouldn’t mind.  You don’t have an ego like that.  I admire that about you—your desire to help others.  I wish I felt that way.</p>
<p>Me, I see them as pests.  As obstacles.  They invite you to dinner.  They keep you after shows, chatting and drinking.  They tie up your phone line, with their endless chatter, and then I can’t call as often.  I can’t hear you ask for me.</p>
<p>
  <em>Who’s there? </em>
</p>
<p>It’s me.  But I’m not ready for you to see me.  To know my plans for us. </p>
<p>In five minutes, they will dim the lights for your soundcheck.  It’s a Thursday, which means ballad night.  Will you choose a classic, or a contemporary song tonight?  I think you’ll fall back on a classic, since you’re rushing.   Peggy Lee is a hero of yours, so my money is on her. </p>
<p>You play that record often at home, I’ve noticed.  When the weather is nice, you open the windows and sing along as you cook in the kitchen.  You need to rest your voice away from the stage smoke and din.  It wouldn’t do to destroy your most valuable asset. </p>
<p>Don’t you care about your dreams?  I do.  I think a great deal about dreams.  I dream what I want, and I make it happen.  Sometimes, I dream them in your bed, while you work. </p>
<p>700 count Egyptian cotton, pale blue sheets.  Comfortable.  Cool.  The scent of vanilla filled my nostrils as I clung to your pillow.  I have memorized this about you, too. </p>
<p>The faint strains of “Fever” reach my ears and I am pleased.  Peggy Lee.  I know you so well.  I like it when you sing this song.  It suits your range.  It brings out your playful side. </p>
<p>As you begin to sing, I fold the pages carefully, creasing them with my gloved thumb.  I think this letter is my finest yet.  I hope you love it. </p>
<p>I was thinking of you when I wrote it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lyrics are from "Fever" - Peggy Lee</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/184370840@N04/50109498931/">  </a>
</p><p>
  <strong>Cover Art - <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowBobcat/pseuds/Marshmellow%20Bobcat">Marshmellow Bobcat</a></strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The sky was a perfect shade of cerulean as the BMW sped down the Coronado, changing lanes quickly to avoid a stalled mini-van.  He hesitated briefly, considering a stop to check on the driver, but he was running late for his appointment already thanks to the impeccable service of United Airlines, and he had no wiggle room left to spare.</p><p>It was his first solo gig; screwing it up would not go over well with his mentor.</p><p>It seemed simple enough, as he reviewed the facts from the flimsy dossier in his overnight bag:  locate obsessive fan of nightclub’s principal performer.  Protect said performer from fan until located.  The club provided ample security of its own.  Police and local security should have been able to manage it, in his mind, but he’d been told this was called in as a favour for a friend.</p><p>He signalled a lane change as his GPS called for, veering closer to the coastline, where a small road held a cluster of new developments:  a low-rise condominium block only the wealthiest would be able to afford; an upscale restaurant; the remnants of the industrial plants that once were; and right at the beach, his target.</p><p><em>The Trident</em>.<em>  Best View In Neptune.  </em>He appreciated a quality double entendre.</p><p>Parking his car close to the entrance, he killed the ignition and took a deep breath.  <em>Go in, meet the client.  Gather the facts.  Assess the premises.  Establish risks.  Plan first steps.  Gather intelligence.  Re-assess.</em>  He silently added, <em>Assume everyone is lying, because of celebrity</em>. </p><p>He’d been handed this assignment because of his upbringing.  Being the son of actors afforded him a certain social cache, but more valuable, it had developed instincts and nuance in social interactions involving the entertainment industry.  His mentor felt these would be critical for risk assessment and developing rapport with the staff of the club, particularly the performers.  He couldn’t disagree.</p><p>“Showtime,” he murmured.</p><p>It was late afternoon, hours until The Trident opened to the public, but operations were underway per his initial briefing.  Bar prep, kitchen prep, rehearsals and other activities began daily at three.  As instructed, he knocked on a rear door and waited patiently.</p><p>The door swung open, revealing a Latino man roughly his age, his head clean-shaven.  His dress shirt was neatly pressed, the top button undone, revealing a neck tattoo.  The man eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and disdain.</p><p>“Can I help you?”</p><p>“Logan Echolls, Wiedman and Associates,” he announced, presenting identification.  “I’m here for a meeting with Loretta Cancun and Cliff McCormack.” </p><p>The man scrutinized his ID for a long minute, which Logan appreciated.  It meant he took his job seriously, which was an asset for this assignment.  He could be utilized to Logan’s advantage.  Handing it back, he held up a finger.</p><p>“I have to call and verify.  Wait here.”</p><p>“Of course, please do.”</p><p>The door slammed shut and Logan remained at the door, studying the camera system.  It wasn’t high-end, but it wasn’t cheap.  Looked like they’d struck a balance between a low-end model and adding a higher-end lens to improve resolution.  The angle was ideal for most patrons entering.  He’d seen worse.</p><p>The door swung open and the tattooed man waved him inside.  “You’re expected.  Come in, Mr. Echolls.”</p><p>“Logan’s fine, Mr…”</p><p>“Navarro.  Weevil Navarro.”  He offered his hand and Logan shook it.  “Head of security.  Which means you appreciate the hard time I had to give you.”</p><p>“I expect and want nothing less,” Logan replied.  “From this moment forward, if they aren’t staff, they’re scrutinized.  That includes spouses and partners of dancers.”</p><p>Weevil whistled low.  “That’s gonna piss a few ladies off….”</p><p>“Tell them to talk to me.” </p><p>No cameras in this corridor, which ran behind the stage.  Disappointing.  He would be recommending some upgrades to the owners. </p><p>“Ms. Cancun’s office is upstairs,” Weevil informed him.  “Follow me.”</p><p>They moved down a narrow corridor painted in a rich shade of burgundy, trimmed with a gleaming gold.  A curvy brunette with a bright smile, dressed in a skin-tight body suit with revealing side panels passed them in the hall, nodding politely to Logan as she passed.  A second Latino male, lankier with wavy hair, moved past them carrying a tray of pint glasses. </p><p>“Felix,” Weevil quietly noted as he passed.  “Head bartender.”</p><p>Logan filed this away quietly.  He would want to speak with him later.  Bartenders often had a good read on regulars in establishments like this.  He would know if any of the clientele seemed unusually fixated on the dancers.</p><p>A winding staircase took them to a loft space where a polished Black woman sat at an antique desk, puzzling over a series of documents with a martini in hand.  As they entered, she brushed the papers aside.</p><p>“Thank you, Weevil.  If Cliffy shows, send him up.  Mr. Echolls, welcome to The Trident.  I’m Loretta Cancun, and this is my house.”</p><p>He approached her swiftly, shaking her proffered hand.  She had a tight grip, and smiled as she squeezed.  A power move.  Logan wagered men tended to underestimate her, but he wasn’t a fool.  He’d done his research on the owners of The Trident.  To rise from the foster system, leave behind minor criminal offenses, sue the city successfully for wrongful conviction and launch one of the most elite nightclubs… It required tenacity, intelligence and strength few possessed.</p><p>“So, why don’t you tell me what you already know, so I don’t waste my time or breath rehashing it?” Loretta suggested as she reached for her drink. </p><p>“Your principal performer has been receiving letters from an alleged fan for three months, escalating from traditional fan mail to obsessive communications that suggest she is being stalked.  You are concerned for her safety, both at the club and away from it.  The most recent letters have taken a tone of the performer belonging to the writer.  Gifts are showing up unexpected and unwanted.  Police have been of little help.”</p><p>Loretta scoffed.  “When <em>are</em> they helpful?  But that’s correct, Mr. Echolls.  The letters are hand delivered, and we can’t seem to get video of this asshole, so we’ve got nothing to work with.  Not even Sheriff Mars, who’s the only decent one in the damn bunch, can get anywhere.”</p><p>Logan’s heart skipped at the sound of that name.  <em>Mars</em>.  It had been over four years since he’d seen her.  Since that name had been a fixture in his world. </p><p>“Last night, he took it to a new level,” Loretta continued.  “He broke into her car.”</p><p>“Here?  Or at home?”</p><p>“Here,” Loretta replied bitterly.  “And he knew just how to approach the car to avoid the cameras with the giant truck parked next to her.  Smashed her back window and tossed another damn letter in the back, along with a bouquet of purple flowers.”</p><p>“I’d like to see the footage, either way.  Police were called?”</p><p>“Mmhmm.  Got the police report for you on this desk somewhere under these loan documents.  Cops might not play nice with their photos, but we took our own.”  Draining her martini glass, Loretta sighed.  “Look, Mr. Echolls—“</p><p>“Logan is fine, Ms. Cancun.”</p><p>“Oh, thank God!  I hate titles and shit.  Call me Loretta, please.  Ms. Cancun is what the bank and the lawyers call me… and my enemies.  Logan, this club is my world.  My staff are family to me.  This creep is messing with my family.  I will <em>not</em> have that.  Whatever you need to protect my girls, we can make it happen.”</p><p>Logan leaned back in his chair, reflecting on the facts.  “I’ll need to review your current security configuration, but I can already see room for improvement with your surveillance equipment.”</p><p>She waved her hand in the air.  “Get me a list, call Clarence, get shit done.”</p><p>“I’ll need to interview all of your staff, see what they may know.  It’s possible someone has met this stalker and not realized it,” he continued.  “Have any employees left in the last year?”</p><p>“Nope.  We’re a family, like I said.  People get in here, they stay until they want to go.”</p><p><em>So no disgruntled employee angle, no sexual harassment cases to consider.  </em>“Last, I will of course need to meet the dancer and make arrangements to review her home for security risks, make similar recommendations for her home security, and arrange our close protection schedule.”</p><p>Loretta rose to her feet, glancing at her wrist.  “Well, she should be almost done her nightly soundcheck and rehearsal.  C’mon, let’s head down to the lounge for a meet and greet.”</p><p>“Soundcheck?” Logan queried as he followed her down the steps.</p><p>Loretta chuckled as her stilettos clicked against the aging wood.  “It’s why they pack this place in, Logan.  How much do you know about burlesque?”</p><p>“Very little, beyond the basics:  it’s an artistic form of dance, centred around a playful striptease, implied or performed.  Has old roots in classic showgirl glamour and style.”</p><p>“That’ll get you by.  It’s about the dance for most, and that performance, it’s all these ladies are about.  Some dabble in lip sync as well.  Think classic, sexy songs, like <em>Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend</em>.  That energy and fire, that same magical time.” </p><p>As they moved down the narrow corridor where Weevil had brought Logan in, he could hear the faint notes of a jazz band from down the hall.</p><p>“Some of our ladies dance, and only dance.  They do a damn good job of it, and they’re tipped well.  But some, particularly our star… they sing.  <em>Live</em>.”</p><p>They were approaching a small ticket booth now, decorated in gold.  “She sings while dancing?”</p><p>“Sings like a damn angel, peels it off and gives ‘em unholy thoughts.  Best of both worlds.”  Loretta nodded to the woman inside the booth.  “Nish, this is Logan.  He’s working for us on the creeper thing.  He can come and go as he needs to.”</p><p>The young woman—her hair in short, tight dreads, dressed in black and gold—smiled warmly.  “You got it, Loretta.”</p><p>The music grew louder as they rounded the corner into the club proper.  The gold and black theme carried inside, keeping the seating area dim and the focus on the grand stage in the centre of the space.  Featuring arcing rows of lights, heavy curtains and two tiered platforms to the sides, it offered ample space for the dancers to work.  To the left was a secondary stage, where the band continued to jam a mid-tempo, familiar melody.  At the rear of the space was a long bar, tended by Felix and a second man.</p><p><em>Another person to ply for intel</em>, Logan noted.</p><p>“Are we ready?” a warm male voice yelled from backstage.</p><p>A member of the band stood up, flashing a thumbs up.  “Let’s do it one more time.”</p><p>“From the top!”</p><p>“That bossy, but lovely man is my co-owner, Cliff McCormack.  He was an angel investor and my advisor in all things business.  Plus, he’s always admired women doing it for themselves.”  Loretta snickered.  “I kid.  Cliff is a sweet guy.  A great friend.  He’s basically the older brother half these women never had.”</p><p>The upright bass and percussion kicked in and Loretta signaled to Felix for another drink as she leaned closer and lowered her voice.  “And this is my star, and your focus until this creep is caught:  Rose.”</p><p>A figure emerged from the rear of the stage, cloaked in shadows.  Her slender legs moved one before the other as she swung a white feather boa.  As she drew closer to the small white spotlight, he could make out more details:  the delicate swell of her breasts blossoming from the glistening black corset hugging her frame; the long, red curls framing her face; the haughty pout of her lips.  Her tongue darted out and ran along them as she approached the mic and coyly glanced around the room, as if she were nervous.</p><p>
  <em>“Never know how much I love you<br/>Never know how much I care…”</em>
</p><p>Logan immediately understood why she was the star of Loretta’s roster.  He was immediately captivated by Rose.  Her subtle facial expression shifts, from feigned innocence to winking seduction; her hip sway to the melody; the way her palms slid over her breasts as she toyed with the ribbons of her corset.  But it was her rich, haunting vocals that set her a bar above.  She could be on stage in Los Angeles, doing musical theatre.  She had a gift, and she’d chosen to bring it here, to Loretta’s club.</p><p>
  <em>Why?</em>
</p><p>The ribbons loosened as her nimble fingers tugged lightly as the strands, Rose plucking a fan from between her breasts and teasing her invisible audience with it.</p><p>
  <em>“Romeo loved Juliet<br/>Juliet she felt the same<br/>When he put his arms around her<br/>He said, "Julie baby you're my flame"<br/>Thou givest fever…”</em>
</p><p>Rose rolled her shoulders back as she tugged a ribbon free, her pink painted lips in a surprised ‘O’ as her corset fell away, revealing silver pasties that twinkled like starlight.  As the spotlight intensified, Logan leaned forward, tilting his head.  There was something about Rose… Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on…</p><p>“Isn’t she amazing?” Loretta whispered.  “She’s got that not-so-innocent act locked down <em>tight</em>.”</p><p>“She’s got star power.  No doubt about it.  And unfortunately, when you’re a star, you attract fans, good and bad.  I’ve seen it in my social circle, growing up.”</p><p>“Well, whoever this psycho is, he messed with the wrong woman.  Whatever it takes, you find him and you stop him.  Nothing happens to her, Logan.  You got that?”</p><p>“Understood, Loretta,” he affirmed.</p><p>He watched as Rose arched her back on the stage, winking at the imaginary audience as her hand splayed over her abdomen.</p><p><em>“What a lovely way to burn,”</em> she cooed as the song drew to a close.</p><p>Loretta applauded loudly as Felix brought a martini to the table.  “Yes!  That’s it, girl.  Rose, grab your gown and come over here.  There’s someone you need to meet.”</p><p>“A drink for you?” Felix asked.</p><p>Logan glanced up and offered an appreciative smile.  “Water would be great, thank you.”</p><p>Staff rushed on stage, gathering Rose’s discarded garments and adjusting set pieces as a curvy Latina whispered instructions to the band.  Another dancer, presumably in need of a soundcheck.  They would need to move to the offices for a proper meet and greet interview, he decided.</p><p>“Ah, there she is!  My blossoming beauty.  Rose, get over here.  I want you to meet the security consultant we hired to deal with Wordy McCreepface.”</p><p>Logan followed her gaze, spotting the subject of his assignment near the lounge entrance.  She tossed her deep cherry curls over her shoulder as she tied the silk robe draped over her frame. </p><p>“Loretta, I told you, I can take care of myself.”</p><p><em>Oh fuck</em>.  Logan’s eyes widened as he made several mental calculations at a dizzying speed.</p><p>“And I told you, I have seen this before, and it ends in body bags,” Loretta chided.  “C’mon over, girl.  This gentleman here is—“</p><p>“Logan Echolls,” Rose murmured, stopping dead in her tracks as her gaze shifted from Loretta to the company she was keeping.</p><p>Same height, same stature, same voice.  Same adamant insistence she could do everything herself.  Same breathtaking beauty as her back arched in ecstasy, feigned or otherwise.  <em>It’s really her, isn’t it?</em></p><p>“Veronica Mars?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Redhead Veronica?  Rose?  Explanations coming soon...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I see your questions.... and over the next few chapters, you will know about the state of the Fab Four in this AU, where Logan has been, and all the tricks Veronica is using as Rose to conceal herself, and why she does it.  Hang in there.</p><p>Remember:  since Lilly never died and the crash never happened, Logan had less contact with the PCH'ers.  He never went off the rails, never was accused of killing Felix... He kept to himself and his bubble in high school.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/184370840@N04/50109498976/">  </a>
</p><p>
  <strong>Cover Art - <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowBobcat/pseuds/Marshmellow%20Bobcat">Marshmellow Bobcat</a></strong>
</p><p> </p><p>In the brighter lights of the lounge seating area, he wondered how he had been deceived.  The answer, of course, lay in the stunned woman before him, hugging her arms protectively around her chest.  In high school, she’d donned disguises when helping her father with cases, but this was another level.  Her cheekbones… there was something a little <em>off</em>… Her nose, too.  And the hair, of course, had led him astray.</p><p>“I take it you two know each other?” Loretta prodded.</p><p>“We used to be friends,” Veronica replied softly, avoiding his stare.  “A long time ago.  Obviously, or you would know that we <em>never</em> use that name here.  <em>Ever</em>,” she stressed, finally looking him in the eye.</p><p>“Sorry.  I was caught off guard.”  <em>Keep your cool, Logan.  </em>“It won’t happen again.”</p><p>“No, because I don’t need help,” Veronica snapped, turning to Loretta.  “My dad’s investigating this, Loretta.  It’s just a few letters and a smashed window.  It’s really not a big deal.”</p><p>Loretta clucked her tongue, shaking her head in exasperation.  “I’m sorry, whose name is on the ownership of this place?  Who signs your cheques?  Who runs the world?  <em>Loretta</em>.  Not Rose Stone.”</p><p><em>Stone?!</em>  As in his half-brother?  That seemed too coincidental…</p><p>A flicker of worry crossed Veronica’s features as Loretta spoke, but she quickly regained composure.  “I understand that, and I appreciate that you’re just trying to protect me.  But look around!  Do you really think that Norris or Weevil, or even Lilly will let anyone near me?  Will <em>you</em>?”</p><p>Logan swallowed hard.  <em>Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.  Lilly works here too?</em>  He was going to kill Clarence when he got home tonight.</p><p>“Rose, you know Loretta’s got a shiny blade to stick in any prick who messes with her people.  But that’s <em>here</em>.  You gonna move into the dressing room?  Sleep in my office?  Live off Cliff’s toaster strudels?”</p><p>Veronica twisted her long red hair over her right shoulder and sighed.  “If it means I don’t have to be babysat by Logan 24-7, sure.  No offense,” she added in a tone that implied he ought to take <em>just a little bit </em>of it.</p><p>As Loretta slammed her martini glass down on the table, Logan decided it was time he played referee.  He’d known Veronica long enough to know that once she’d made up her mind, there was no convincing her to change it.  The trick was to nudge her along a path and convince her that it was her idea all along.</p><p>“We don’t need to decide on close protection right now,” he interrupted, stepping between the women.  “My primary concern at the moment is a risk assessment of the club itself and gathering details of the stalker’s activities to date.  From there, I can make recommendations, which may include close protection.”</p><p>At this, he turned his back to Veronica and winked at Loretta.  Catching on, Loretta nodded coolly and waved him away.</p><p>“Fine.  Let’s allow our security consultant to decide what you need.  He’s the expert, not you.”</p><p><em>Yeah… not helping my case with Veronica, Loretta</em>.  It was already going to be an uphill battle, especially after how they’d left things four years ago.  His chest ached as an image flickered to mind:  Veronica, asleep in a bed, hair splayed on the pillow, as he walked away, fighting back tears...  He shook himself slightly, turning to Veronica as the jazz band began to softly play.</p><p>“Would we be able to go somewhere and talk for a few minutes?  I’d like to establish a timeline of the stalking activity:  when and where it began; how often you’ve received messages; copies of the letters, if available; any interactions you’ve had with clientele that have struck you as noteworthy—“</p><p>Veronica shook her head.  “Loretta has copies of all of the letters in her office, but this has to wait.  I had a late night yesterday with my car being smashed into, and I have exactly an hour to grab a nap before the first set.  I planned on that time for myself and I need it.” </p><p>Logan hesitated, resisting the urge to press the issue.  Surely Loretta could let her skip a set to rest if it meant he could gather the facts he needed.  At the same time, he desperately needed to rebuild his bond with her if he were to have a hope in hell of convincing her to accept close protection—and his gut instinct told him her stalker would approach her directly soon enough.</p><p>“That’s fine.  I’ll start with physical security, and we can talk between your sets,” he decided.</p><p>His tone left no room for argument:  if not now, it would be later.  They needed to talk—and not just about the current threat to her safety.</p><p>“Fine.  Loretta, this discussion is <em>not</em> over!”</p><p>Loretta snorted as Veronica pivoted on her heel and stormed away.  “You don’t fool me, Rose!  You’re all bark.”</p><p>“I have fangs!” Veronica called out petulantly.</p><p>“Sure she does,” Loretta giggled.  “She always been this difficult about being cared for?”</p><p><em>Oh, yeah.  It’s what tore us apart</em>.</p><p>Reaching for his water, Logan offered a small smile.  “It’s one of her flaws, but she has her reasons for her over-developed sense of independence.” </p><p>“I love her, but I’m two seconds from locking her in my basement for her own good.” </p><p><em>I know the feeling</em>, Logan mused.  Senior year with Veronica had been… challenging.  His least favourite moment had been the time he’d had to pull a gun on Liam Fitzpatrick to stop him from forcibly tattooing her face on a dirty pool table at the River Stix. </p><p>“Loretta, Rose seems very unhappy with my involvement.  Are you sure you want me to continue with my work?”</p><p>“Are you kidding?  Do I need to give you the same damn speech I gave her?  Who runs this place, her or me?”  Loretta moved past him, holding up a finger.  “Carmen!  What the hell is wrong with that bodysuit?  Girl, you best not have machine washed your delicates again.”</p><p>The curvy dancer on stage, presumably Carmen, shied away from her mic.  “I didn’t!  But, um, a certain idiot who works your bar might have.”</p><p>Loretta spun around, eyes flashing with anger.  “Hector!  You’re opening early, as a gift to me tomorrow.  The grease traps in the kitchen need a scrubbing.”</p><p>Logan suppressed a chuckle as the bartender grimaced in disgust, but did not argue.  Loretta approached the stage, whispering something in Carmen’s ear.  The dancer’s arms waved around, pointing between Hector and her outfit, but ultimately, she threw her hands up in defeat.</p><p>“Go see if Parker is feeling generous and will lend you hers,” Loretta commanded.  “If not, you’re solo tomorrow and spending your afternoon at the costume shop.”</p><p>“Sorry, Loretta.” </p><p>Carmen rushed offstage as Loretta returned to Logan’s side, shaking her head in dismay.   “My work is never done.  How’s she going to look her best in a stretched out bodysuit?”</p><p>Logan hadn’t noticed anything, but then again, he wasn’t scrutinizing the busty Latina’s attire.  The clientele of The Trident, however, would be giving the women their undivided attention. </p><p>Loretta’s long fingernails clicked against her martini glass as she lifted it off the table.  “I will leave you to your inspection, Mr. Echolls.  You have free reign of the club.  If anyone gives you trouble, ask for Weevil or Norris.  After you’re done, come see me or Clffy, and we’ll corner Rose in the office—“</p><p>A piercing scream from the rear of the club stunned Loretta into silence—and spurred Logan into motion.  Weaving between the tables in the lounge, he bolted down the corridor to the rear of the club, following the memory of a sound, its echo reverberating in his skull.</p><p>He knew that scream.  <em>Veronica</em>.  But where was she?</p><p>The stairs to Loretta’s office were on his left, but they were a private stairwell with a single destination.  A group of frantic women ahead drew him to a costuming rack, where he found Weevil and another man, similarly clean-shaven, pushing their way through the fray towards a staircase.</p><p>“Ladies, let us through!” Weevil demanded.</p><p>“How are we supposed to work here if you can’t protect us?” a blonde dancer snapped, standing before him with her arms akimbo.</p><p>“How are we supposed to protect you if you get in our damn way?” the other man countered.</p><p>Logan wove around them, barrelling up the staircase on instinct.  Seventeen steps straight up took him to a hallway with several doors, but only one stood open, spilling jaundiced light onto worn wooden floors in need of a varnish.  The farthest door from him, on his right.  His hand slid beneath his blazer and flipped the snap on his holster open as he cautiously moved closer, listening for movement.  Voices.  Distress.</p><p><em>Please be okay</em>…</p><p>He was steps from the doorway when he heard it:  a soft, muttered voice.  <em>Her</em> voice.</p><p>“Goddamn it… He’s never going to stop…”</p><p>“V—Rose?”</p><p>She peeked around the door jamb and rolled her eyes.  “Of course you’re here.  Because you’re the <em>bodyguard</em>.”</p><p>“And you’re the singer.  Welcome to our Hollywood cliché.”  Stepping inside what he soon realized was a dressing room for at least five women, he swallowed down the sarcasm.  “Are you okay?”</p><p>For a moment, her mask slipped:  those pale blue eyes he’d lost himself in as a teenager softened, inviting him to drown one more time.  “Yeah.  I was just… surprised when I saw it.”</p><p>He followed her pointed finger to a dressing table, where a crystal figurine of a unicorn rearing up on its hind legs stood atop a neatly folded sheet of paper.   A chill ran down his spine as he thought of Veronica’s bedroom at age fourteen, and her joking obsession with the mythical creatures.  She collected them as a lark:  the cheesier, the better.</p><p>“Has he ever left anything in the club before?” he asked quietly.</p><p>“No.  No, and now, I’m pissed.”</p><p>Logan approached the dressing room table warily, glancing at the door as footsteps thundered down the hall.  He nodded to Weevil as he arrived with Loretta in tow, the latter embracing Veronica warmly.</p><p>“Did you read the letter?”</p><p>“No, and I don’t want to.  I don’t give a damn what this asshole has to say.”</p><p>The mask was nudged back in place, but Logan saw through it.  The slight trembling of her bare knees and the pitch of her voice betrayed her fear.  Unwilling to disturb the letter before police had the opportunity to arrive, he left it in place.</p><p>“We need to call in Sheriff Mars,” he announced.  “He’s the only competent cop in Neptune.  Weevil, can you take care of that?”</p><p>“On it,” he replied, reaching for his cell phone and stepping into the hallway.</p><p>“Loretta, I need every letter, now,” Logan commanded the owner.</p><p>“I’ll get them from the office.  Got them in a folder.”  Her stilettos clicked off the wooden floor as she pivoted swiftly and hurried away.</p><p>Logan stood in the centre of the dressing room, assessing access points.  One small window, scarcely big enough for Veronica to squeeze through.  The main door.  The window would be several stories off the ground, making the doorway a more realistic point of entry.</p><p><em>How did someone evade Weevil and Norris</em>?</p><p>Two incidents, back to back, that bore a silent message:  <em>I can get to you anywhere</em>.  There was one place left, one final proving ground for her stalker.</p><p>“I don’t like that look on your face,” Veronica muttered.</p><p>Logan took a step towards her.  “Why’s that?”</p><p>“Do you forget that I used to work with my dad?  You may be some fancy security specialist now with Jake Kane’s old henchman, but I did this for years.  I know the look of gears turning.”</p><p>Another step closer, one she matched by edging backwards towards the sofa.  “Turn your own gears, then.  If the roles were reversed, what would you be saying?”</p><p>“Screw you.”</p><p>“Keep it professional,” he countered with a smirk. </p><p>Her lips parted as if to speak, then closed tight.  <em>Logan 1, Veronica 0</em>.</p><p>“I don’t want to fight with you.  But you know as well as I do that he’s escalating rapidly.  You see the pattern, don’t you?”</p><p>Veronica sighed loudly, sinking slowly onto the sofa.  “I can take care of myself.  I always have.”</p><p>“Do you have a security system at home?  Cameras, alarms, motions on the windows and doors?”</p><p>She shook her head.  “I have a gun.  I’m licensed.  Hate the thing, but I have it.”</p><p>“Alright.  So maybe I come over and install a system on a rush.  You don’t have to accept 24-7 protection from a person, but you know this guy’s coming to your home next.  Let me help you protect yourself.”  Offering a small smile, he leaned against the wall beside her.  “I mean, work is paying.  Take the freebie and run.”</p><p>“My annual bonus?” Veronica quipped.  “Wow, just what I always wanted!”</p><p>“You joke now, but wait until you see the clarity of the doorbell camera I’ll install.” </p><p>”You’re right.  Keeping you out will be a bonus.”</p><p>He stole a sideways glance at her.  Her coy smile sent his stomach plummeting into his shoes.</p><p>“Cops are on the way,” Weevil announced from the doorway.</p><p>Veronica rose to her feet, stretching her arms overhead.  “I should get ready for my set.”</p><p>“You sure you’re up for it?” Logan asked.</p><p><em>No, she wasn’t</em>.  Her eyes darkened as they skirted the floor.</p><p>“Logan, you grew up with actors.  You know as well as I do that the show must go on.  Gentlemen, I need to change.  Excuse me.”</p><p>Reluctantly, he followed Weevil out of the dressing room, hovering in the hallway as Veronica hesitated at the door.  Her brow furrowed, she drew a breath and abruptly slammed it shut, as if ripping off a proverbial Band-Aid.</p><p>“That woman is gonna get herself killed with her stubbornness,” Weevil grumbled.</p><p>“Not if I can help it,” Logan vowed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And a little more from our creepy voyeur....</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Today is a special day.  A day I have been waiting a long time for. </p>
<p>I’ve been waiting for a particular gift to arrive for weeks.  I know you’ll love it.  It will remind you of happier times.  Carefree times.  It will make you giggle and smile.  Maybe you will keep it on your desk at home, displayed next to your photos of your friends.  Maybe you will name it.</p>
<p>I have named it already, but I will not tell you the name.  I know that we are so in sync, you will choose the same name, if given the chance.  You will know her name when you see her.</p>
<p>I can’t leave something this precious on a doorstep, or on a table.  I must be sure it reaches <em>your</em> table.  The special one.  The table the star is given.  That is what you are:  the star.  The brightest one.  The jewel of the sea.</p>
<p>I have planned this for weeks.  I know when people come and go.  I know when they are all busy.  I know when the only one at the door is the laziest one, the one who will not notice me.  The door is unlocked and I step inside, unchallenged.  I slip by in my hoodie and head upstairs, ignored, unseen.</p>
<p>It’s how I’ve always been in life.  That is, until you saw me.  Until you smiled at me, and assured me I was special.  You haven’t told me in a long time, but I still believe it.  I still believe you think of me that way.</p>
<p>I will show you how special I can be.</p>
<p>I leave your gift on the table with my new letter.  I know I write often, but your performances inspire me.  They feed me, my Muse.  What am I to do, but pour my heart out to you? </p>
<p>I am watching now, waiting for you to receive my gift.  Gift giving isn’t about the money spent.  It’s about witnessing the joy on the face of the one you’ve bought a treasure for.  That is the reward, the gift you will give me.</p>
<p>You are late today.  You’re fifteen minutes late after rehearsal.  Did soundcheck go badly?  Did they not treat you properly?  Oh, but you are here now… and you seem displeased.  Your mouth falls open wide in a large ‘O’ and mine mirrors it.</p>
<p>Oh no.  Oh my.  Oh mine.  You are mine and you are mad at me.</p>
<p>This is not the reaction I expected.  Perhaps I should have left my letter on the door.  You don’t seem to like surprises.</p>
<p>I will remember this about you.</p>
<p>I will remember how you do not touch my gift.  I will remember you not reading my letter.  I will remember the stranger who enters the room, how he almost touches my gift.  <em>How dare he</em>?</p>
<p>I will remember the way he looks at you.  I don’t like the way he looks at you.</p>
<p>I will remember the way you look at him.  It is a heady mix of heartbreak and lust, and I will not let him get away with eliciting these feelings from you. I memorize how he stares at you:  how his hands reach for you unconsciously, pulling back as if scorched by flames radiating from your skin. </p>
<p>If he touches you, he will burn.  I will see to it.</p>
<p>Tonight, I have learned that you will always challenge those who seek your affections.   That’s okay.  I like a good fight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You know what this story needs?  A strip tease... and a POV shift.</p><p>Lyrics quoted are from Stone Temple Pilots' "Big Bang Baby", as performed by Emm Gryner.</p><p>No beta!  No safety net!  This is trope-a-palooza and today we MUTUALLY PINE!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She drew her silk robe tighter around her frame, a shiver running down her spine as she stared at the figurine on her dressing room table.  The purple crystal shimmered beneath the vanity lights, the tiny reared legs seemingly twitching as they sparkled and shone. </p><p>
  <em>How does he know this about me?</em>
</p><p>A voice from the doorway jarred her from her thoughts:  “Is Daddy Mars coming to dispose of that atrocity?”</p><p>“On his way.  Don’t touch anything on my table.  They’ll want to print it,” Veronica replied absently.</p><p>“Hideous.  If you’re gonna have a stalker, couldn’t he buy you something useful, like a pair of Louboutins?”  As Veronica’s head snapped up, ready for a fight, Lilly pressed a finger to her lips.  “I’m <em>kidding</em>, duh.  Fuck this asshole for harassing you.  Take the night off.”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>Lilly kissed her cheek, tracking her jawline with a freshly-manicured nail.  “Liar.  Swap me spots.  Take an extra twenty to relax.”</p><p>That, Veronica would do.  “If you don’t mind…”</p><p>“Oh, the <em>boys</em> will mind, and maybe a few girls.  But I’ll just have to shake my ta-tas extra hard to distract them.”  Lilly sat her bag down and slowly unbuttoned her blouse.  “Loretta introduced me to your security solution.  Said you’re not playing nice.”</p><p>Veronica groaned, reaching for the shoe box beside her.  “I can take care of myself.”</p><p>“Mmhmm.”  Peeling off her jeans, Lilly rolled her hips playfully in Veronica’s direction. “Do you need a testimonial?  Because he has <em>definitely </em>secured my<em> ass-</em>ets in the past.”</p><p>“Shut up, Lilly.”</p><p>Her best friend tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder and adjusted the strings on her bustier.  “Logan was hot when we dated in high school, but did Clarence take him to Greek God Finishing School?  Those <em>biceps</em>!”</p><p>“He’s in a suit, Lilly.  You can’t see shit,” Veronica snapped, strapping on her favourite silver heels.</p><p>Settling down in front of her vanity, Lilly reached for her favourite red lipstick.  “Veronica Mars, are you still holding a grudge because he moved away and broke up The Fab Four?  He didn’t have a choice.”</p><p>“I know,” she muttered, fluffing her crimson locks.</p><p>“With Lynn gone and his father… he had to leave.  Had to take Clarence’s offer.” </p><p>“<em>I know</em>, Lilly.”  Veronica turned towards the window, staring at the starless sky.  “But phones are a thing.  Letters are a thing.”</p><p>
  <em>Saying goodbye to someone who loves you is a thing, Logan.  But you couldn’t even do that, could you?</em>
</p><p>“I’m guessing learning to be a secret agent is why he never called.  You know men.  They’re all terrible.  Look at Donut and his loser friends, always loitering in this place.”</p><p>Veronica’s nose scrunched up as she spun around.  “Yeah, why hasn’t your brother figured out that coming to the club where his sister dances in her skivvies is high on the <em>yikes</em> factor?”</p><p>“He swears he doesn’t perv on me, but I’m far too fabulous to be ignored on a whim.”  Adjusting her breasts to deepen her cleavage, Lilly beamed.  “Time to go bank more Casablancas coin!”</p><p>Veronica snickered.  While tipping was optional and not performer-specific—the nightly admission fee covered things nicely—patrons were encouraged to leave a little extra in a communal tip jar if they were pleased with the show.  The Casablancas brothers—Dick, in particular—were notoriously generous tippers.  She was pretty sure they’d paid for her first semester at Columbia already and summer wasn’t even over yet. </p><p>“Their trust funds will be empty by twenty-five.”</p><p>“And I am happy to help them blow their wad… of cash.”  With a wink, Lilly opened the dressing room door with a flourish.  “Our adoring minions await.”</p><p>Deep breath in and out, and she was ready.  <em>Game face on.  You are Rose Stone:  coy, alluring, mysterious and untouchable.  You belong to no one.  You need no one.  You lure them in and leave them wanting more.</em></p><p>It was a persona she’d carefully crafted over four summers of undergrad at Stanford. </p><p>Had you asked Veronica in high school how she’d be paying for her university degrees, burlesque dancing would have never crossed her mind.  Working through school was a given after her mother had stolen her college money and screwed off into the sunset with her secret boyfriend, but dancing for her degree?  Not on her radar.  Then again, she never would have imagined graduation night ending with her bloody hand pressed against a bullet hole in Gia Goodman’s thigh as she frantically outraced a manic Lucky Dohanic on a winding road. </p><p>Gia had lived, but her newly minted PI career was dead in the water, as far as her father was concerned.  Truth be told, after having multiple guns pointed at her face in her senior year, a little dull and dreary normalcy was welcome.</p><p>Camera and fake IDs hung up, she’d taken a job at Java The Hut, slinging coffee and overpriced desserts for snotty 09’ers enjoying a summer of leisure.  She kept her focus on the future she’d busted her ass for, shutting out anxiety, grief and heartbreak as she poured, wiped and served with a smile.  <em>Stanford awaits</em>, she told herself as Madison Sinclair purposely spilled sugar containers, or whenever Angie Dahl gloated about her summer trip to Spain. </p><p>She’d earned a partial scholarship to Stanford, enough to cover tuition for two years, but an apartment and expenses weighed heavy on her mind.  Add in abandonment from Logan, shake over ice and serve with a side of Duncan trying to rekindle their old flame and well…. Veronica couldn’t pack her car fast enough come September.</p><p>After first year, she’d returned to Neptune, broke and beaten down from a year of working the campus library on work study.  Lilly, who’d done a year at Vassar and dropped out, had beckoned her to a sanctuary:  The Trident, an elite club where shitty men couldn’t hit on you while you slung coffee cake and crappy karaoke was banned.  The friendly face of Cliff McCormack had sealed the deal:  she would wait tables for the club, and make triple the cash for half the hassle.</p><p>That summer, she’d fallen in love with burlesque.</p><p>Lilly was captivating, of course.  Her confidence in herself, and her body, made for a provocative routine.  She was acrobatic and daring, and the patrons of The Trident adored her.  Veronica also loved watching Meg Manning perform, often pausing with her tray at the bar to enjoy the sweet ingénue Meg exaggerated for the crowd—only to stun them with a sudden drop into the splits, or her deft use of props.  Meg’s penchant for stealing audience belongings for her act was her appeal:  she’d sweetly saunter by, borrow a hat… and suddenly be wearing little else.</p><p>Loretta had noticed, of course.  She’d offered tips, little by little.  <em>Try this with your eyeliner.  You need a different shade of red lipstick, Vee.</em>  <em>If you’re going to shimmy in my club, relax your knees and move with the music</em>.  Veronica had listened.  She’d hung out with Lilly, learning her routines, and singing every song.</p><p>“Why don’t the dancers sing live?” Veronica had asked one evening. </p><p>“Have you heard Madison sing?” Loretta chortled.  “Girl sounds like a tomcat screeching in an alley.”</p><p><em>All the more reason to fire her</em>, Veronica had replied silently.</p><p>She’d returned to waitressing at The Trident after sophomore year, noticing the staff hadn’t changed much, aside from a new dancer named Jackie Cook.  Jackie was witty but butted heads frequently with Lilly, the two of them believing they were each the star… until they rage-fucked after work one hot August night and decided to date instead. </p><p>Veronica smiled quietly as Lilly blew a kiss to Jackie backstage.  <em>Two years and still going strong.</em>  Lilly and Jackie’s arguments were the thing of legend, but Jackie’s refusal to tolerate Lilly’s melodrama and games meant she had to <em>work</em> at a relationship for the first time in her life—and it was healthy for her.  Lilly had a certain peace within now, something she’d never known in her chaotic home.</p><p>Lilly approached Loretta, informing her of the set swap. Loretta nodded and headed towards the band to give them direction. </p><p>
  <em>Lilly is a good friend.  And Loretta… she’s been a great show aunt.</em>
</p><p>Sinking down on a stool backstage, Veronica smiled wistfully.  When Loretta had called her at the end of junior year, she’d known what she wanted:  to dance on the stage.  But with a law career in her sights, a history of strip tease, even artistic, seemed unwise.</p><p>
  <em>“I really want this, Loretta.  But you know how judgmental people can be.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“So don’t be you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Okay sure, so easy in a town where my dad is the Sheriff, Loretta.  Never mind how I’ve been working there for years.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Girl, come see me the weekend before we open.  I have an idea…”</em>
</p><p>Fluffing the curls of her wig, she grinned as the familiar strains of Lilly’s favourite number began: a rousing, upbeat rework of the classic, “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend.”  With extra bass and swagger, it let her play with her strand of faux diamonds in <em>erotic</em> ways.  Many a patron had found himself bound or gagged with her jewels as she peeled off her glittering corset to reveal disco ball pasties and a thong that seemed to be made of pure glitter and wishes.</p><p>She envied Lilly the freedom to be herself, to dance as herself, to not worry that tonight would be the night where someone recognized her.  Veronica sensed that a few of her former classmates had suspicions, perhaps stoked by Madison, but if they had seen through her wig, the careful lighting of her routines and the extensive and extreme makeup she employed—<em>face surgery contouring</em>, Loretta’s friend had called it—they dared not speak her name aloud.</p><p>Within these walls, she was Rose Stone, and by collective agreement, the staff addressed her as such within the walls of The Trident. </p><p>
  <em>“Why Rose Stone?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because I am blooming, Loretta… and Lester is too fucking obvious in this town.</em>
</p><p>“Your father’s on the way and not happy you’re working tonight.”</p><p>Veronica glanced up, forcing a brave smile for Cliff. “Well, this should feel nostalgic for him.  Just like high school, only less Fitzpatricks… unless… Do you think Liam’s still crushing on me after our rendezvous at the River Stix?  He really wanted us to get those matching tattoos, but I just wasn’t ready to commit.”</p><p>“Yuck it up, Little Gem.  I know you better than Loretta, and I control payroll.  Which means if you like getting paid, you’re going to have personal protection, <em>no arguments</em>.”</p><p>Veronica fists clenched in her lap.  “Cliff, I can’t deal with him.  Have Clarence send someone else.”</p><p>“No one else is available, and I don’t trust Vinnie’s company to secure a doughnut on a tray, let alone you.”  Cliff paused, watching as Lilly pressed her stiletto into Casey Gant’s shoulder with a wicked grin.  “You were besties, as the kids say.  Four Musketeers.”</p><p>“That was before he fucked off without saying goodbye,” Veronica seethed.</p><p>“As his former attorney, once upon an assault charge, some friendly advice?” </p><p>She bit her tongue as she noticed Logan at the bar, chatting with Hector.  <em>He’s going to worry my dad.  Ramp him up, have him in a panic.  What gives you the right to come back into my life and turn it upside down?</em></p><p>“Go easy on him,” Cliff continued, patting her shoulder.  “He really didn’t have any options.  Not with what I was hearing around the jails.”</p><p>She tilted her head askance.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“Aaron Echolls, may he rot in hell, was capable of many things, Rose.”  Cliff stretched his arms overhead slowly.  “I need a drink.  You want anything?”</p><p>“Nah, clear head, full heart, can’t be stalked.”</p><p>Accepting defeat, Cliff wandered away as Lilly left the stage, changing places with the secondary ensemble for a group number to an instrumental piece.  Susan, Hannah and Parker were prompt as usual, while Madison was late to the stage, stumbling into place right as the curtain began to rise.</p><p>
  <em>Resist the urge to insult her.  She was actually… nice last night when your car got smashed in.</em>
</p><p>Rising to her feet, Veronica lingered on side stage, watching Logan work.  He gestured to the ceiling, pointing something out to Hector and Felix.  Neither of her colleagues looked happy about it, whatever it was.  The expression on his face was one of intense focus and a deep… concern?  She thought of his offer to install a system for her home and her stomach fluttered.</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, maybe Clarence could do that.  I demand a senior employee.  VIP treatment. God Veronica, you sound like an asshole!</em>
</p><p>“If looks could kill,” Lilly purred.  “God Veronica, let it go!  Just talk to him.  Don’t you have bigger problems?”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>Lilly didn’t understand.  Couldn’t understand.  She’d been at Vassar when things had changed with Logan and what they had… They’d kept it private.  She’d never told Lilly about those four months of stolen kisses and touches, or that she hadn’t lost her virginity to that asshole Brandon at Stanford… No, she’d lost it much sooner, with Lilly’s ex.</p><p><em>Four months, Logan.  Didn’t I mean anything to you?</em>  <em>There’s a hole in my chest where you used to be.</em></p><p>As if he felt her frustration, he oriented to her, meeting her gaze.  Unwilling to back down, she met his stare, folding her arms protectively over her chest.  Blocking him out.  Cradling her battered heart, the one he’d rendered a minefield for any other man she’d met in the last four years.</p><p>
  <em>You hurt me.  Do you know how much?</em>
</p><p>And yet…  and yet.  He turned back towards to bar, scribbling notes on a small pad, and she rubbed her arms, wishing it were his hands.  Remembered how they felt at his pool, the night they’d snuck in a midnight swim. </p><p><em>He needs to know what he’s done.  If we have to work together, he deserves to feel it.  </em>And she knew just how to even the playing field.</p><p>Marching over to her boss, she smiled sheepishly.  “Loretta, I need to change my song.  I’m not feeling ‘Fever’ tonight after what’s happened.”</p><p> “So, what <em>are</em> you feeling?”</p><p>Veronica whispered the song in Loretta’s ear and the club owner grinned.  “Oooh.  Our nice girl’s feeling a little dark tonight.”</p><p>“I’m thinking… Sad little angel baby,” Veronica mused.  “Wronged by a man, in need of some love.”</p><p>“Well, that loser with the weird name who says <em>nice</em> fifty times a conversation is in the front tonight.  He should lap it up and tip large.  Go make your bank, baby!”</p><p>Veronica rolled her eyes.  “Piz?  He’s like a twelve year-old trapped in a man’s body, still sending notes in class.  ‘Do you like me?  Check yes or no.’  But he always throws extra in the jar, so I can’t be mad.”</p><p>“I’ll go cue the band.  Get ready, Rose.  You’re next.”</p><p>Shaking out her limbs, Veronica smiled.  <em>Oh, I’m ready.</em>  It had been a while since she’d worked the stage to this song, but she broke it out twice a month.  The black corset she wore was perfect for the task, but she needed one more layer… <em>Ah!</em>  Plucking her favourite sheer coat with a faux fur trim from the costume rack, she turned to the prop shelf, organized by dancer and song title, and retrieved the box for her selection.</p><p>“A scenery change last minute?” Cliff huffed behind her.  “You know this bed’s a pain in the ass.”</p><p>“And you know you love me, Cliff.”  Softly, she added, “Sorry.  I wasn’t feeling my usual.  I need to work some things out.”</p><p>He nodded, shoving the four-poster into place and locking the wheels.  “It’s okay, Gem.  Whatever you need.”</p><p>“You’re my favourite uncle, Cliffy.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah.”</p><p>She kissed his cheek and shoved him off stage, signalling to the band that she was ready to go.  The band leader, Preston, flashed a thumbs up to Loretta, who headed through the curtains to make her introduction.</p><p>
  <em>I hope you’re watching, Logan.  </em>
</p><p>With a practiced hand, she nestled her over-ear mic into place and headed on stage.  Setting the shoebox on the edge of the bed, she closed her eyes and took herself back to a memory of her bedroom.  To the feeling of her back slamming against a wall, lips crushed together, deliciously bruised.  To a hand hooked beneath her knee, hitching her up.  To the pain of waking up and realizing it was forever a memory, and the fingerprints burned into her skin like a brand that would never caress her again.</p><p>“…the one, the only…. Rose!”</p><p>The curtain crept upwards as the piano tinkled and she swayed slowly to the gentle notes and the hint of violin.  The original version of the song, the one from that day, was a loud, raucous affair.  She was forever grateful she’d found this piano cover, and its quiet pain.</p><p>In shadows and spotlights of deep blue evoking an evening sky, she pulled a photo from the shoebox and began to sing.</p><p>
  <em>“Got a picture of a photograph<br/>Of a wedding and a shell<br/>Just a burning itching memory<br/>I never kiss and tell…”</em>
</p><p>She winked at Dick Casablancas, pressing the photo to her breasts.  He loved this prop, she recalled.  Loved what she did with it in the later verses.  Laying it on the pillow, she grabbed the letter from the box, shrugging off her coat slowly, one shoulder at a time as she feigned reading it.</p><p>
  <em>“So turn it up and burn it<br/>There's a hole in your head<br/>A hole in your head<br/>Where the birds can't sing along<br/>Does anybody know how the story really goes<br/>The story really goes<br/>Or do we all just hum along?”</em>
</p><p>The pages fluttered to the ground as she cast them aside, running her hands along her body, lost in the memory of a touch that had felt so loving, so filled with fire she was certain she would be consumed.  And, in a way, she had been:  she’d been burned, wounded so deep she’d never let anyone else so close again.</p><p>She loved this routine.  She called it her <em>sad bed ballet</em>.  Gripping the post of the bed, she swung around, brushing the box aside as she kicked her leg up and propelled herself onto the mattress to the cheers of the crowd. </p><p>They loved this routine, too.</p><p>Slowly tugging a lace free from the side of her corset, she swayed and undulated over the bed post, searching the crowd for Logan.  She swallowed down her satisfaction at his stunned expression as she continued to sing.  <em>He remembers</em>.</p><p><em>“We used to see in color, now it's only black and white,”</em> she pleaded, averting her gaze.</p><p><em>This is how you left me.  This is what you did</em>.  It drove her through the delicate turn as she released her corset, belting out her high note: </p><p><em>“Nothing’s for free<br/>Take it away, boys</em>…<em>”</em></p><p>It was a knowing wink to the exchange of audience and dancer, but it was her release.  It was where she poured out anything that frustrated her.  Her hand daintily stretched out dropping the corset on the ground as she collapsed to the bed, as if exhausted.  Her hand reached for the photo on the pillow, holding it above her as her hand slid over her cleavage, now clad in a black lace bra.</p><p>
  <em>“Turn it up and burn it<br/>There's a hole in your head<br/>Hole in your head<br/>And birds can't sing along…”</em>
</p><p>As her hand plunged between her thighs, the crowd erupted in whistles and cheers.  Veronica, milking her character, covered their view with the oversized photo, smiling demurely as the music paused for dramatic effect.</p><p>As the crowd quieted down, she blew the photo a kiss and flicked it away with a wistful smile, her hips arching off the bed.</p><p>
  <em>“Sell your soul and sign an autograph<br/>Big bang baby, it's a crash, crash, crash<br/>I wanna cry but I gotta laugh…”</em>
</p><p>With a roll and a swing of her legs, she was on her knees, gripping the headboard and singing as if her life depended on it.  Kicking her legs up, she flipped into a handstand, balanced precariously on the frame for a five-count as the audience roared their approval.</p><p>As she dismounted to the stage floor, she found Logan in the crowd, blinking away traitor tears as her voice cracked.  Beside her feet lay the abandoned photo:  a distant image of a man surfing at sunrise. </p><p>
  <em>“Anybody know how the story really goes</em>
  <br/>
  <em>The story really goes</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Or do we all just hum along?”</em>
</p><p>Her fans ate it up as <em>Rose</em> curtsied, as was her customary thank you.  But Logan… he looked shattered.  Just as he deserved to feel.</p><p>
  <em>Now we’re even.  Now, we can talk about you being back in my life.  </em>
</p><p>Her satisfaction was short-lived.  Their talk would have to wait, she quickly realized as she stepped offstage.  Her father and Deputy Sacks had arrived… and Cliff was approaching Logan in the main lounge. </p><p><em>Fuck.</em>  If Logan were anything like he was in her high school PI days, she wouldn’t be able to get away with feigning disinterest and privately hunting her stalker behind her father’s back anymore.  Two against one, and the majority would rule.</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>Loretta, ever perceptive, stood before her with two martini glasses.</p><p>“Is one of those for me?”</p><p>Loretta held out her left hand with a knowing smile.  “I figured tonight was an exception to your sober working policy.”</p><p>“Then I’ll be okay.”  Veronica’s shaking hand closed around the glass, bringing it swiftly to her lips.  “I’ll be fine.”</p><p><em>Just as soon as I drown the part of me that still loves Logan Echolls.<br/><br/><br/><br/></em> <strong> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gk4ksjvoDdM">Listen To Big Bang Baby as performed by Rose</a> </strong></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have been VERY intrigued by all the theories on why Veronica is using an alias, why she looks different to Logan, etc... Occam's Razor.  You can flip through YouTube and see varying examples of "face surgery" through makeup and extreme makeup looks that dramatically alter appearance.  Veronica is, for the record, narrowing her face, changing her nose shape to match, plumping her lower lip and relying on low lighting to hide her features.  Toss in an expensive, realistic wig... and she can pull off enough misdirection to deny who she is on stage (notice up close in better lighting, Logan ID'ed her immediately?)</p><p>Next time:  more details on the letters and maybe I'll lock these pining idiots in a room so Logan can explain his sudden departure from Neptune four years ago.  Any theories?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Veronica is hurting, and has made that known... How will Logan respond?<br/>Let's find out...</p><p>This chapter contains a quote from Through The Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll.</p><p>ANNOUNCEMENT:  We are beta'ed once more.  Welcome my lovely Chikabiddy back as my right-hand woman to keep my butt in check.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If the San Andreas fault were to split California in two and plunge Logan into the depths of the ocean at this moment, he would welcome it with open arms.  Standing at the bar, watching as Veronica—<em>Rose, in the club, you have to call her Rose</em>—sang with heart-wrenching longing, was twisting a knife he’d plunged inside his heart over four years ago. </p><p>The fact it was <em>this song</em>, the one playing when he’d come to her that final night, wanting to confess the truth and instead finding himself lost in her touch… Clearly, she was harbouring a blade in her own body.  One she intended to turn against him now.</p><p>
  <em>I deserve it.  And she deserves the truth.</em>
</p><p>He’d known his sudden departure would hurt her, but he’d been given few choices and had believed it safer if she knew nothing of his whereabouts.  Veronica was tenacious and determined at eighteen.  She would have followed him, and he wanted her to have a future.  He wanted her to survive.</p><p>In hindsight, it may not have been his decision to make, but Clarence had been persuasive.</p><p>He watched as she propelled herself into a graceful handstand on the frame of the bed, earning enthusiastic cheers from the crowd, before an elegant dismount onto the stage.  The ocean in her eyes swelled with salty tears unshed as she stared out at him, singing her final refrain:</p><p>
  <em>“Anybody know how the story really goes<br/>The story really goes<br/>Or do we all just hum along?”</em>
</p><p>The breath whooshed out of his lungs as she curtsied, in character and in control, leaving him in the wreckage of her performance.  <em>Veronica 1, Logan 1.  </em>A tie now.  He only hoped that she would let him explain, and they could build a working relationship, if nothing else.</p><p>In the periphery, Logan spotted Cliff McCormack weaving through the packed lounge.  Loretta had introduced him briefly before the night’s performances, her warm smile and their banter revealing a tight-knit friendship beyond their business partnership.  Loretta’s tendency to survey a room for potential threats—a survival instinct, Logan gauged from his own experience—faded in Cliff’s presence.  She trusted him completely.</p><p>If Cliff had remembered him from the assault charge he’d handled for Logan, he’d been discreet enough to feign a lack of prior relationship.  Cliff McCormack was a good guy—and the tabloid reporter who’d insulted his dead mother had deserved a fist in the face, in Logan’s opinion.  The charges had been swiftly dropped, thanks in large part to Cliff.</p><p>“Mr. Echolls,” Cliff whispered.</p><p>“Just Logan,” he corrected quickly.</p><p>“Sheriff Mars and Deputy Sacks are here to go over the dressing room.  Figured you’d like to chat with them when they do.”</p><p>Logan nodded.  From a professional standpoint, he absolutely needed to.  From the standpoint of the guy who secretly dated the Sheriff’s daughter, then broke her heart… not so much.  Another reason to ream Clarence out for assigning him this job.</p><p>“Let’s go.”</p><p>Soft jazz music played as they moved through the bustling crowd of patrons clutching drinks and chatting.  Logan glanced backstage as they moved through the side corridor, noticing Veronica and Lilly with their heads bowed close.  A third dancer he didn’t recognize—a statuesque Black woman with tight curls piled atop her head, dressed in a long, form-fitting gown—was reapplying lip gloss as Loretta ushered her staff into their respective places for the next number. </p><p>Sheriff Keith Mars was already inside the dressing room when they arrived, directing a police photographer to mark and capture the scene.  Noticing their arrival, a flicker of surprise crossed his features, but was swiftly tamped down.</p><p>“Hey, Sheriff.  This is the security consultant we’ve hired to assess the club and, if Rose will agree, provide protective services.  Logan Echolls, this is Sheriff Keith Mars, Balboa County.”</p><p>“We’re acquainted.”  The sheriff’s hand stretched out, meeting Logan’s for a firm shake.  “Been a long time, Mr. Echolls.”</p><p>“Logan is fine, Sheriff.  Our operations take us worldwide, but Mr. Wiedman felt my knowledge of Neptune and the ‘09  zip was beneficial to this case.”</p><p>Keith nodded warily, mulling his words.  <em>Yeah, I’m questioning Clarence’s logic myself.  Join the club</em>. </p><p>“Anyone see this delivered?” Keith asked, pointedly glaring at Logan.</p><p>“No one,” Cliff admitted.  “It wasn’t here when Rose arrived, which gives us a window of forty minutes.  Weevil was on break.  Norris was on the front door, prepping for opening.  Back door was being opened by Felix, Hector and band members as needed.  I was backstage handling soundcheck and Loretta was meeting with Logan to explain the situation we’re dealing with here.”</p><p><em>Thanks for the save, Cliff.</em>  “Unfortunately, we were in the lounge and I had no vantage point of the entrances,” Logan clarified, circling closer to the dressing table.  “I did note on arrival that cameras are needed on <em>both</em> doors as well as interior corridors, and Loretta has authorized moving ahead.  I’ll have our technician in tomorrow for permanent gear, but I can install a temporary covert camera tonight.”</p><p>“Sounds like this guy’s learned your break schedules, Cliff.  Shake them up.”  Keith snapped on a pair of gloves as he approached Veronica’s dressing table.  “A crystal unicorn?”</p><p>“Rose loved unicorns when she was younger, as a running joke.  This is a deliberate gift, but misguided,” Logan interjected.  “Does she still have a few in her home?”</p><p>Keith frowned.  “I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”</p><p>“I don’t like that the implication is there to be made, Sheriff,” Logan countered gravely.  “I’ve convinced her to let me do an assessment tonight at her home.  We’ll have a security system installed there tomorrow as well.  Motions, door and window contacts and cameras.”</p><p>“Huh.”  Keith rocked back on his heels.  “She’s been fighting me on that for two weeks.  Must be that spell you had her under in high school.”</p><p>The image of an old-school police interrogation scene in a film came to mind:  the bright white light, the long metal table and the detective looming over.  “More like the Trident footing the bill,” Logan replied quietly. </p><p>“Yeah.  Yeah, that spell was broken, wasn’t it?” Keith mused.  “Is that going to be a problem?”</p><p><em>He might as well be cleaning the proverbial shotgun right now.</em>  “I’m a professional, Sheriff.  My sole concern is protecting Rose and identifying the stalker.  Nothing else is relevant.”</p><p>“Good.”  Reaching for the letter on the table, he carefully unfolded the page.  “Did she read this one?”</p><p>“Refused to.”</p><p>As Keith read the note, he grimaced.  “I’m glad.  She doesn’t need any more of this guy’s rambling in her mind.”</p><p>He turned the page towards Logan, holding it up for him to read.  As his eyes scanned the page, his heart thudded wildly in his chest.  This stalker was fixated on Veronica, and would not stop at gifts and prose.  He would want to meet her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Beautiful Blossom,</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>A special gift for you.  A treasure for you to press to your chest.  She is prancing, dancing and dazzling like you.  A star.  </strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Another thing we have in common.  We’re meant to be close, meant to reflect each other’s light.  Believe it, Rose.</strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em> <strong> “The Unicorn looked dreamily at Alice, and said "Talk, child." </strong> </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> <strong> Alice could not help her lips curling up into a smile as she began: "Do you know, I always thought Unicorns were fabulous monsters, too? I never saw one alive before!" </strong> </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> <strong> "Well, now that we have seen each other," said the Unicorn, "If you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you. Is that a bargain?” </strong> </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>“Lewis Carroll.”  Logan shook his head.  “Does he always quote literature?”</p><p>“Doesn’t always leave a quote.”  Keith bagged the letter, directing Sacks to have it sent for analysis.  “Styles vary, greetings change.  Did Loretta give you copies?”</p><p>“Yes.  I’ll be reviewing them tonight after assessing the club and Rose’s home.”  Logan hesitated, the tension between them still thick.  “Sheriff, do you have any suspects?”</p><p>A hesitation betrayed the truth:  <em>Keith Mars has a theory</em>.  “Nothing concrete.  There are several avenues we’re exploring but this guy’s been careful.  It’s frustrating, but I’m hopeful that with the additional security we might finally make some progress before he takes things a step too far.”</p><p><em>You won’t tell me, but you might tell Veronica.  I’ll have her ask you</em>.  Sheriff Mars was a man of strong ethics, an intelligent man, and understandably wary of Logan.  But he did have one weakness to exploit:  his only daughter.</p><p>“If anything concrete comes up, please give me a call,” Logan urged, passing the Sheriff his business card.  “I’m going to resume my risk assessment of the club.”</p><p>“Nice to see you well, Logan,” Keith replied, tucking the card inside his left breast pocket.</p><p>Walking downstairs from the dressing rooms, Logan swallowed hard.  <em>He so knows I slept with his daughter in senior year.  I’m screwed.</em></p><hr/><p>The night flew by in a whirlwind of climbing ladders, opening doors typically ignored, and subtly plying the bar and wait staff for their impressions of the clientele.  Hector was quiet and tight-lipped, but Felix was affable and took his cue from Weevil:  if the head of security entrusted Logan with Rose’s protection, he saw no reason to hold back.</p><p>“That guy up there?  The one with the Bieber hair?”</p><p>Logan nodded, snapping a subtle photo with the camera hidden in the pin on his jacket lapel.  “Yeah?”</p><p>“Dude was obsessed when she waited tables at Java.  He’s never blurted it out, but I’m pretty sure he knows her real name.”</p><p><em>That’s concerning</em>.  “Got a name for me?”</p><p>The music for Madison Sinclair’s routine swelled as Felix called out what Logan swore sounded like <em>Piss</em>.  Convinced he’d misheard, he patiently waited for a server named Monica to cash him out.  <em>Stosh Piznarski.  PIZ</em>.  Unfortunate either way.</p><p>Felix also pointed out the Casablancas brothers, leaning over as he whispered of their unusually generous tips.  That, Logan could explain from his past friendship with Dick.  He had zero comprehension of fiscal responsibility and the emotional maturity of a frat house after a kegger.  Cassidy was tagging along, doing as big brother told him.  Still, their constant presence was worth exploring.</p><p>The final number of the evening—a group performance to an instrumental piece rooted heavily in a sultry jazz—brought him to side stage, where Loretta kept careful watch over her dancers.  She nodded to him as he approached, humming with the melody.</p><p>“Pam finally practiced that damn turn,” she muttered. </p><p>“Loretta?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“There are a number of security upgrades and changes to be made—“</p><p>Loretta waved him off, gesturing to the stage.  “Tomorrow, we’ll get it done.  Take a hot minute and look at them.  Confident, bold women.  They own the men and women in that lounge.  They’re in charge.”</p><p>Logan’s gaze drifted first to Lilly Kane as she effortlessly shimmied her way to a pole at the side of the stage.  With a playful kick, she leveraged her grip on gold-plated steel to land on the Casablancas table.  Plucking a ribbon from her corset, she blindfolded Dick with it, earning a glare from her brother.</p><p>At the centre of the stage, the cherry curls of Rose Stone flipped back as she teased the crowd with the possibility of her dress slipping from her shoulders.  Her coy smile reeled them in as she seemingly suffered wardrobe malfunction after malfunction—all by design. </p><p>“Your torch is still burning for that one, ain’t it?”</p><p>Logan shook his head quickly.  “I’m here to work.”</p><p>“That’s a yes,” she replied smugly.  “You’re not the only one carrying a torch.  Lilly’s brother, down front.”</p><p>Logan followed her pointed finger, watching Duncan followed Veronica’s every movement.  Eleven women on stage—ten of them unrelated to the guy—and it was as if she were performing solo.  There was something cold and intense about his stare… Logan couldn’t quite place it, but it unsettled him.</p><p>
  <em>I need to catch up with ol’ DK.</em>
</p><p>He studied the dancers as they moved around Veronica, mentally noting their body language and expressions as she drew near.  Lilly was affectionate and playful, the two of them bumping hips in time with the bass drums.  Madison was desperate to upstage her, but she was also cutting off Lilly and Carrie Bishop, another classmate of theirs from Neptune High.  A petite blonde in the rear of the stage was subtly mimicking her, echoing little flourishes a minute afterwards.  They landed with half the weight, to her dismay.</p><p>
  <em>It’s more than a gesture.  It’s an attitude.  Authenticity.</em>
</p><p>Rose, Lilly, Carmen, Carrie, Meg and Lilly’s maybe-girlfriend…  They seemed to be the stars of the Trident.  Was it possible one of the other five dancers wanted to scare the competition out of the spotlight?</p><p>The number finished to loud cheers and Logan applauded.  Loretta chuckled, nudging his shoulder.</p><p>“Welcome to burlesque, baby.  Now please, talk sense into that girl?”</p><p>Logan huffed.  “You can’t talk Rose into anything.  You know that as well as I do.”</p><p>Felix slipped backstage with a tray of drinks, passing Loretta a martini.  “For the money we’re paying Clarence?  Find a way.”</p><p><em>Find a way</em>.  She’d dodged him for that promised questioning on her break.  Somehow, he doubted his opinions held much weight these days.</p><p>He watched her drape a robe over her green corset and eagerly accept a glass of wine from Felix.  Clinking glasses with Lilly, she glanced in his direction and frowned.</p><p>“Are you still here?”</p><p>Lilly spun around, grinning ear to ear.  “Lo!  Hello, lover!”</p><p>“Lilz, behave.  I’m working,” he cautioned.</p><p>“Whatever, so am I.”  Tossing her hair back, Lilly emptied her wine glass and passed it to Felix.  “Jax, come meet Logan!  Rose, pull the giant broomstick out of your ass and stop being a witch to our oldest friend.” </p><p>In a split second, Logan deciphered Lilly’s casual smile and Veronica’s panicked stare:  <em>she’s never told Lilly about us.</em>  It was a welcome relief, particularly since he intended to grill Duncan about his fixation on Veronica.  He’d need Lilly as an ally to that discussion. </p><p>Veronica reluctantly wandered over, her arms crossed over her chest.  Lilly wrapped her arm around the shoulders of the mystery woman with glowing, tawny skin dusted in glitter.  Logan noticed, bemused, that she made a point of kissing Lilly’s cheek, leaving a raspberry lip stain.</p><p>“Jackie Cook.”</p><p>“Logan Echolls, Wiedman and Associates.  Formerly Neptune High, where Lilly made all our lives merry hell.”</p><p>Veronica snorted as Lilly gasped in mock indignation.  “Excuse you very much!  I made things more fabulous!  That school would have been boring as fuck without me.  You would have gone to Homecoming and actually danced to whatever crappy band Clemmons hired instead of getting drunk with Donut and me in that limo.”</p><p>
  <em>True, but then I wouldn’t have earned a beating for spilling champagne on Dad’s tux, so…</em>
</p><p> “I was grounded for a week after that, Lilly!” Veronica protested.</p><p>“Most excitement your diary saw.  Not like my snooze of a brother was providing anything to write home about.”  Lilly dodged as Veronica tossed a feather boa from the shelf beside her and nuzzled Jackie closer.  “So, I dance now.  Celeste <em>hates it</em>.  Almost as much as she hate me being bi.  And you’re what, a hired assassin?”</p><p>“A private security consultant.  We advise on risks, develop strategies and action plans for scenarios and in cases like your stationery addict, provide personal protection.” At this, Logan glanced at Veronica.  “Usually, people welcome our services.”</p><p>“Usually, people request them,” she countered.</p><p>“And why wouldn’t you?” Jackie probed.  “Creeps-A-Lot is busting car windows and leaving ugly statues in our dressing room.  He’s one step away from leaving you <em>hasenpfeffer</em> in your damn kitchen as an after-work snack.”</p><p>“She’s right.  When it was all sappy letters, whatever.  But this is different.  You <em>know</em> it is,” Lilly insisted.</p><p>Veronica threw up her hands, pushing past them.  “I’m tired.  I’m calling it a night.”</p><p>“Good.  I’ll follow you home,” Logan insisted.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>He cut off her exit, placing himself between her and the narrow corridor towards the dressing rooms.  “For starters, you promised to walk me through the stalker’s history.  You also agreed to let me install a basic camera and alarm tonight, until our technician can install your full system.  Holiday bonus, remember?”</p><p>Veronica cursed beneath her breath, bowing her head.  “Fine.  Fine, let’s get this over with.”</p><p>“Hey…” His voice softened as he spoke in a whisper.  “You have every right to be angry at me, but this isn’t about <em>us</em>.  Let me do my job, Veronica.  Let me protect you.”</p><p>“I haven’t agreed to a bodyguard,” she protested.</p><p>Logan shrugged.  “That’s fine.”</p><p>“Wait here.  I need five to change.”</p><p>“Take your time.”</p><p>He had one last matter to take care of in the club tonight.  Heading to his right, he looped inside the lounge, pleased to see he was right about who he’d find closing down the bar:  Casey Gant, heir to a publishing fortune, and Duncan Kane.  The latter glanced up as Logan conspicuously cleared his throat, smiling brightly.</p><p>“Hey, stranger!  Never thought I’d see you step foot inside Neptune again.”</p><p>“DK!  How have you been?” They exchanged a friendly hug before Logan clapped Casey on the back.   “Ran into Lilz a few minutes ago.  When did Jackie happen?”</p><p>“Couple years?”  Duncan shrugged, chugging his beer.  “Man, the parents were pissed.  Dad got over it fast.  He’s got a soft spot for Lilly.  Mom… she doesn’t know what has her more upset:  her racism or her homophobia.”</p><p>“Keeping it classy.” </p><p>“So, where have you been?  The stories people have told, Logan… They’re pretty wild.”</p><p>“My favourite was the one where you decked a Russian mobster’s son over a sex tape of you and Lilly and went into hiding,” Casey interjected.</p><p>“Nothing quite so exciting,” Logan replied.  “Emancipated from dear old dad and took off to enjoy my trust fund.  Clarence offered the chance to train for security consulting and I accepted.  I’ve been working with him for a few years.”</p><p>
  <em>It was the tidy version of events.  No one who knew better was alive or cared to contradict it.</em>
</p><p>“Are you back to stay?  We should hang out,” Duncan suggested.  “Maybe a barbeque?”</p><p><em>Making my life easy for me.</em>  “Sounds like a plan.  I’ve got to take off, but I’ll give Lilly a shout and we’ll set it up.  Good to see you.”</p><p>“Yeah, you too.”</p><p>Logan didn’t miss Duncan’s immediate glance towards Veronica hovering at the lounge entrance.  He made no effort to wave or greet her, something that struck him as particularly odd.  If it were merely their old friendship, why not be…. friendly?</p><p>
  <em>I have to ask her about Duncan.  Did they rekindle things when I left?  This seems excessive for a high school romance.</em>
</p><p>Veronica was dressed in jeans and a sheer black blouse over her corset, her large bag slung over her shoulder.  She tapped her boot impatiently against the carpet as he approached.</p><p>“I drive fast,” she taunted him.</p><p>“Only way I like to drive.”</p><p>She jammed a slip of paper into his hand.  “Here’s the address.  If you’re more than five minutes behind, I bolt the door.”</p><p>It was a challenge, a second gauntlet thrown down.  The raised eyebrow and slight inflection of her voice was almost playful.  If gunning it to her ‘05 zip home didn’t give him whiplash, her shifting moods surely would.</p><p>He worked out his frustrations with excessive speed in his BMW, keeping a close pursuit on Veronica’s Mazda as it wove between the scant vehicles on the freeway.  He was nostalgic for the LeBaron and its broader hood.  What had happened to it?</p><p>Not that her antics mattered, of course:  he’d trained in evasive driving with a former CIA agent.  He slid into the visitors’ parking lot outside her low rise just seconds after she banked hard into her assigned space. </p><p>“Seems conspicuous for security,” she called out across the lot, gesturing to his M2.</p><p>“405 horsepower, can go from zero to sixty miles per hour in four seconds, tops out around 170 miles per hour and does it in style.  Given the clientele of the Trident, it blends.”  Logan popped the trunk, extracting a rolling suitcase and a duffel bag.  “Form and function.  It’s the right car for the job.  In my day to day, I usually cycle everywhere.”</p><p>Veronica rocked back on her heels.  “You <em>bike</em>?”</p><p>“The environment is in a crisis and I live close to a grocer, butcher and the beach.  Why drive?”</p><p>Shaking her head slowly, she headed down a cobblestone pathway to the entrance of the building.  “Whatever.  Can we hurry this up?  It’s been a long night.”</p><p>Locking his car, Logan moved briskly to catch up, displeased to learn Veronica lived in a ground floor unit.  One that faced the rear of the building, away from the main road.  <em>Easily infiltrated without detection</em>.  She did, however, have an extra deadbolt installed beyond the standard lock provided by the building.  She held the door open for him, flipping on a hallway light with her elbow.</p><p>“I need to freshen up and change, so feel free to do your assessment thing.  Search my drawers and private things and I’ll know,” she warned.  “After I’m out, we can go over any questions, okay?”</p><p>“That’s fine.  I’ll count the number of windows for the contact sensors to install, figure out the best number of cameras to maximize coverage with minimal intrusion, and decide where we can rig up a couple temporary cameras.  They’re similar to the Wyze units, only increased sensitivity and storage capability.”</p><p>Veronica shrugged, swinging her oversized bag.  “Okay.  I’ll be back.”</p><p>She disappeared down the hall and to the right, leaving Logan with his gear in a hallway lined with photos of Veronica with her father and friends:  Veronica and Lilly; Veronica, Lilly and Duncan; Veronica, Lilly and several dancers from the Trident; Veronica and several women he didn’t recognize.</p><p>Off the hallway lay a small kitchen painted a pale green with a tiny table, a small counter space and gleaming new appliances.  The window was large—unusually so, perhaps large enough for someone to slip through.  A contact sensor was in order.  Logan also noticed that the window faced a wooded trail open to the public. </p><p><em>It would be very easy to watch her from there.</em> </p><p>Dead ahead from the hallway’s end lay a cozy living room with a small sectional sofa on a bright blue rug, facing a flat-screen TV.  The coffee table was strewn with photography magazines, note pads with scribbled phrases and a hardcover copy of <em>Only Revolutions</em>, a book Logan had neither heard of, let alone read.  In the corner were shelves filled with books, DVDs and photo albums. </p><p>Two windows in here, both small, but worth securing with contact sensors all the same.  A camera facing the entry corridor would be an asset, as it would cover intruders from the kitchen as well.  This would be ideal for a temporary camera tonight.</p><p>The far wall featured a large framed image of the beach at sunset, a storm looming in the distance.  The bags were forgotten momentarily as he moved closer, studying the image intently.  The feelings it evoked, that juxtaposition of beauty with a threat of disaster… it was stunning. </p><p>“I won a prize for that.”</p><p>Logan glanced behind him, blinking hard at the woman emerging from what he presumed was the bathroom.  The shoulder-length blonde hair falling in loose waves, the petite nose, the cheekbones… it was <em>his</em> Veronica. </p><p>“How…?”</p><p>“A very expensive hair piece and make-up.  Extreme contouring, or as Loretta’s make-up effects artist friend calls it, <em>face surgery</em>.”  Veronica chuckled softly.  “You didn’t think I’d actually had work done, did you?”</p><p>Logan frowned.  “I… I guess I didn’t think about the how of it.  I just knew things were different.”</p><p>“It used to take over an hour each day, but I have it down to thirty minutes,” she explained, moving towards him.  “There are certain features of the face that define us.  Our nasal structure, our eyes, our cheekbones, our jawline and our lips.  Shift them around, even a little, and it’s enough to deceive.  I elongate my face, narrow my nose, plump my lower lip, shift my cheek bones a bit to add a different prominence and add a different depth to my eyes.  Mix in a little mood lighting on stage and it’s enough to confuse most of our clientele.”</p><p>“Why so much effort?  I mean, none of the other women seem to hide their identities,” Logan observed.</p><p>“None of the other dancers are attending Columbia Law next year.  And while I have no shame about how I’m paying for tuition, people are assholes.  They like to talk.  You know that better than most, Logan.”  </p><p>Oh, he knew.  His every movement, and every painful, private life event, was fodder for the media.  His mother’s funeral had been crashed by paparazzi desperate for a shot of the empty casket.</p><p>“I understand.  You have a right to privacy.”</p><p>Veronica nodded firmly, folding her arms over her chest.  “I do.  It’s my life.  Loretta had no right to hire you without asking me.”</p><p>“She had a right to hire me to step up security at the club, but you have a point.  You should have been asked.”  He gestured to the photo on the wall.  “This is incredible, Veronica.  You always had an eye for photography.  Do you still shoot?”</p><p>She shrugged shyly.  “Sometimes.”</p><p>“Make time for it, if you can.  Seriously.”  Glancing anxiously around the apartment, Logan sighed.  “This is awkward for both of us, but I need to see your bedroom.”</p><p>“<em>Need?</em>”</p><p>“It’s strictly professional—“</p><p>“Maybe I’m done with your needs, Logan,” she spat angrily.  “But sure, go ahead.  Around the corner to the left.  Take whatever you want.  You always do.”</p><p><em>Veronica 2, Logan 1 and pulling away.</em>  “Veronica—“</p><p>“Just… hurry up.”</p><p>She spun on her heel, heading into the kitchen and he held his breath, held back the words on the tip of his tongue.  <em>Give her a minute.  Finish the assessment and then explain.</em></p><p>Her bedroom was, as described, around the corner to the left.  A spacious room, it featured a queen-sized bed with a black and white bedspread, a small desk in the corner beneath the window and a sleek dresser dotted with jewellery boxes, photo frames and—alarmingly—three small unicorn figurines.</p><p>The centre one, a prancing unicorn that appeared to be spewing a rainbow from its posterior, was one he’d bought her in senior year as a gag.  His heart skipped at the sight of it. </p><p><em>There’s no denying it now.  He’s been in her room</em>.</p><p>Did Logan dare tell her?  Or had Veronica already connected the dots? </p><p><em>Of course she has.  It’s Veronica</em>.  She’d begun sleuthing around Neptune High in sophomore year.  By senior year, she had a PI license and jokingly called herself Nancy Drew.  The significance of tonight’s little delivery was not lost on her.</p><p>Noting the two windows in his Notes app, Logan returned to the living room, where Veronica was sipping a glass of white wine on the sofa.</p><p>“Find what you came for?” she muttered.</p><p><em>She’s angry and scared.  Stick to the facts</em>, he ordered himself.</p><p>“You need five contacts and glass breaks, a door alarm, and four cameras, plus a doorbell camera, to be fully protected.  For tonight, I’d recommend a doorbell camera install and two urgent cameras:  one mounted above the entry to your bathroom to capture activity tracking to and from the bedroom, and one mounted here in the living room, which will capture the front foyer, living room and exits from the kitchen.”  He gestured to his gear bags in her foyer.  “I can get those going in about half an hour while we go over a few questions, if you’re okay with me recording audio instead of taking notes.”</p><p>Waving her wine glass in the air, Veronica sighed.  “Fine.”</p><p>“Mind if I borrow a chair from the kitchen?”</p><p>“Knock yourself out.”  The venom in her tone suggested she meant it literally.</p><p>Four years ago, his temper would have overtaken him.  Four years ago, he would have pointed out that he, too, had been ripped away from someone he loved.  Only she’d been able to keep her hometown, her friends, a father that loved her.</p><p>He’d left town with a virtual stranger, and spent three years looking over his shoulder. </p><p>Four years was a long time, particularly under the tutelage of a man who seldom lost his composure. It was why Logan drew a steadying breath and retreated to the kitchen, retrieving the chair and refusing to take her bait.</p><p>Veronica was itching for a fight, but he wasn’t interested.  They’d hurt each other enough for a lifetime.</p><p>Opening the travel suitcase, he grabbed a camera kit and dragged the chair to the far corner of the living room.  He triggered the Voice Memo app on his personal phone and left it recording as he pulled up the camera’s software app on his work phone. </p><p>“When did the letters begin?”</p><p>Veronica groaned.  “Three months ago.  Didn’t Loretta tell you this?”</p><p>“She did.”  Logan pulled the camera from the box and sat it aside.  “You’re far more observant than her.  I want your timeline.”</p><p>He fidgeted with the camera base as she sipped her wine, shaking her head slowly.  “Three months, four days.  The first letter was left in the communal tip jar.  A small card, really.  It wasn’t the first time a patron had left a note for a dancer, so I didn’t think anything of it.”</p><p>Activating the camera and pairing it to the app, he tested the image quality.  It would do for the interim.  “And how often did you receive letters after that?”</p><p>“Weekly at first.  Three letters.  All left in the jar.  Then, they became daily letters.  Longer, more detailed…“ Veronica’s words trailed off as she pressed her wine glass to her forehead.  “We’d find them everywhere in the lounge.”</p><p>He stood on the chair, aiming the camera down the entryway.  He toyed with several angles, accounting for average height differences.  <em>No… no…  That should work.</em>  Sliding the base into place, he secured it with the adhesive backing.</p><p>“Define everywhere,” he gently probed.</p><p>“The bar.  The bathrooms—men and women.  Tabletops.  Side stage.  <em>Everywhere</em>.  But the writer, he was nowhere to be found.”  A beat.  “Sound familiar, Logan?”</p><p>Clicking the camera into place, his palm slapped the wall in frustration.  “Are we doing this now?”</p><p>“Maybe I’d like <em>you</em> to define everywhere,” Veronica countered angrily.  “As in, <em>Logan was everywhere I wasn’t for four FUCKING years and couldn’t pick up a phone.</em>  So, Logan, tell me about <em>everywhere</em>.”</p><p>“Veronica—“</p><p>“You <em>left</em> me.”  Scarcely a whisper, her voice struck his chest like a sledgehammer and drove the breath from his lungs.  “I thought you were in trouble.  I thought you were <em>dead</em>!  And then I find out from Lilly that you’re roaming the world with Clarence Wiedman, and I realize that four months of my life were just you killing time.”</p><p>“You can be angry with me for how I left, but you don’t get to do that,” he snapped, stepping off the chair.  “You don’t get to rewrite history to punish me.  You <em>know</em> what we had was real.”</p><p>Veronica rose from the couch, slamming her wine glass down on the end table beside her.  “Then why did you disappear without saying goodbye?”</p><p>“Because it was the only way to stay alive!”  He tugged angrily on his short hair, at a loss for words adequate enough to express his regret.  “It was the only way to keep us <em>both</em> alive.”</p><p>Irises of ice blue bore a hole in his psyche as she warily edged closer.  “What are you talking about?”</p><p>“When my mother died, you remember how she left me everything in her will?”  At her slight nod, he continued.  “Yeah, well… Aaron had been using my mother to evade taxes.  He’d hidden most of his assets in her name.  When she died, he lost access to a significant chunk of his money.  Enough to get very pissed off when I told him I was moving out and taking my trust with me when I graduated.”</p><p>Veronica’s lips fell open in a surprised ‘O’ as she mulled this statement.  “Aaron was a monster, but <em>murder</em>?”</p><p>“Didn’t you wonder why all those videos of my shitty behaviour started hitting the tabloids?  Father Knows Best was leaking them.  He wanted me placed in a conservatorship.  Wanted me declared violent and incompetent.”  Logan shook his head in disgust.  “It wasn’t working, because I’d hired my own lawyer.  Lilly had also connected me with Clarence at spring break.  Just in case I needed protection.”</p><p> “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Veronica seethed.  “I was your <em>girlfriend</em>.  Before that, I was your friend.  One of your best.”</p><p>Logan held up a finger, remembering his voice recorder.  Stopping the recording on his phone, he continued quietly.</p><p>“You were, and I wanted to tell you.  You gotta believe that I wanted to tell you.  But you and self-preservation are oil and water, Veronica… and I’d been told my father was trying to convince the Fitzpatricks to take me out.  I’d had to pull you away from them once before.  If you knew they were after me…”</p><p>“That was different!  I was investigating a plastic surgery scam.  I had no idea Danny Boyd was a Fitzpatrick.”  She cursed beneath her breath, twisting her hair over her shoulder.  “Logan… you should have told me.  You shouldn’t have been going through this alone.”</p><p>“Clarence was helping me.  And you… When we were together, I wanted to just feel <em>normal</em>.  I just wanted to feel something <em>good</em> in my life, for once.  You were the one good thing I had to cling to that year, Veronica.  Can you maybe appreciate why when you ran off after gangs or had a gun pulled on you, I might get <em>fucking terrified</em> of losing the one bit of light I was clinging to?”</p><p>He was inches from her now, close enough to feel her breath on his face.  Close enough that in another life, he would kiss her hard, pull her close and hold her against his chest, listening to her breathe.  But the anger, it still burned low inside her.</p><p>“You could have said goodbye.”  Her body trembled, even as her chin jutted out defiantly.  “<em>Should</em> have said goodbye.”</p><p>“I tried to.  The original plan was for Clarence to take me away after graduation, but we got word of an attempt on my life being planned for graduation day.  Clarence insisted I leave the night before, but I told him I couldn’t go without seeing you.”  Logan swallowed hard, fighting the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear, as he had that night.  “When I saw you, I knew I couldn’t tell you.  You would either follow me, or spend your life trying to take down my father and the Fitzpatricks.  You would fight for me, and I was afraid of what they would do to you.  You deserved a future.  The one you’d worked so hard for.  So… I let you go.”</p><p>“That wasn’t your choice to make!” Her hand slapped against his shoulder, pushing him backwards.  “It was <em>our </em>decision.  Together.”</p><p>His hand covered hers, squeezing it gently.  “You’re right.  But I was a kid, and Clarence was very convincing.  He insisted the less people knew of my whereabouts, the better.”</p><p>Veronica yanked her hand away, turning her back to him.  “I… I don’t know what to do with this.”</p><p>“You don’t have to know.  You don’t have to forgive me, although I hope someday, we can be friends again.  I missed you, Veronica.  Every damn day.”  He paused as his voice cracked, collecting himself.  “But for the sake of your safety, can we maybe work together as professionals and figure out the rest later?”</p><p>Silence, save the soft hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.  Logan waited pensively, giving her space.  Knowing her as he did, he could almost hear her mind whirring with anger, sadness and a complex moral compass that would judge him worthy or worth a swift kick in the ass.</p><p>“Is it even safe for you to be back in Neptune?” There was a coolness to her tone, but the concern was genuine beneath.</p><p>Logan grimaced.  “Yeah, as safe as it ever was.  The threats seem to have died with Daddy Dearest last year when his fling of the month stabbed him at that Halloween party.”</p><p>“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she admitted quietly.  “But I can accept that you didn’t know what to do.  That you were just trying to do the right thing.  So yeah,” she acquiesced, turning around.  “We can work together.  I still don’t know if a bodyguard is necessary, but security systems, someone at the club… It’s not a bad idea.”</p><p>“Okay.”  It was all he could ask of her.  “Thank you.”</p><p>“I’ll be right back, if you want to finish with the cameras?”</p><p>Logan nodded and Veronica excused herself, heading in the direction of her bedroom.  He assumed she needed a minute to process their discussion.  Hell, he needed a moment to process it.  But duty called, and with a renewed focus on her safety, he made swift work of mounting the second camera over her bathroom doorway and verifying the connection. </p><p>He’d begun unwrapping the covert peephole camera when Veronica emerged from her bedroom, her laptop in hand.</p><p>“As I’ve been saying all evening, hiring Clarence’s company was unnecessary, or should have at least been decided with my input.  Now that you’re here… I might as well take advantage of the asset I have.  Take a seat.”</p><p>Puzzled, Logan followed her to the couch, sitting down beside her. Veronica opened the laptop and tapped furiously at the keys, humming as the save screen faded away to a series of folders.</p><p>“I may have been out of the game for four years, but did you all really think I would sit back and let someone stalk me?  I’ve been investigating this asshole for two months.”  With a frustrated sigh, she shifted to face Logan.  “I had this under control—and now your very public interference has fucked it all up.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's Veronica.  Did we REALLY think she wouldn't try and solve her own stalker case?</p><p>So, a LOT has happened here - more than some may realize *wink*<br/>I'd love to hear your thoughts here and over on Discord where we have our own shiny thread.  How lovely, Fic Club!</p><p>A NOTE RE UPDATES:<br/>As Trope-A-Palooza has ended and real life is extra demanding, updates for this story will be slowing down to biweekly or so, give or take, until Cardboard Castle wraps.  I have family needs to tend to, along with other writing things in the pipeline.  You can keep tabs on those when I finally start using my writer Twitter regularly again, (at)dillonac.</p><p>See you soon &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>